


If You Change Your Mind, You Know Where To Find Me

by perfectpro



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, basically the AU where the supernatural world is competent, the AU where werewolves have their shit together and hold conferences and other productive things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4510656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectpro/pseuds/perfectpro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He and Lydia actually get along, and it certainly helps that she’s as familiar with the supernatural world as he is. She’s fun to talk to, has a million stories to compare with him about their different packs, and is easily the hottest woman he’s ever laid eyes on.</p>
<p>The fact that her room key is weighing heavy against his leg makes him a little nauseated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Change Your Mind, You Know Where To Find Me

The woman who walks into the hotel before him is absolutely gorgeous. The type of gorgeous that makes Stiles wonder about how it’s even possible for a woman to look that perfect. The dress that she’s wearing clings to her every curve, and it’s short length doesn’t leave much of her legs to the imagination. He can only imagine how it would feel to have those legs wrapped around him, but he’s not going to think about that.

He locks eyes with her while they’re standing line at the front desk. She’s just as beautiful from the front, and he can’t help but hope that she’s not going to be attending this conference. Because the last thing that he needs right now is a gorgeous redhead to distract him from the border negotiations that he needs to lock down for Derek.

As soon as she sees him, the woman reaches for her luggage and waltzes over to him. By the look of her, she’s here for the same purpose that he is. She’s wearing the same lanyard that all the representatives have been given for the weekend, but he doesn’t have a good enough view to make out her name before she’s standing in front of him and tilting her mouth like she’s thinking about something. “Lydia Martin, McCall pack,” she introduces herself, holding a hand out to him.

Shaking her hand, he can only nod. “Stiles Stilinski, Hale pack.” The McCalls are their neighbor to the north, and Stiles likes them from what little contact he’s had them. Scott seems like a good guy, and he must be considering that he’s the first True Alpha that the agency has reported in over a hundred years. He’s only met a few members of the pack before, Jackson and Liam, and he’d liked Liam. Jackson was another story, but he can say with complete surety that he’s never met Lydia before.

She barely even blinks. “We’re sorry for your loss. Scott to heightened border patrol in light of what happened.”

He knows that she means Erica and Boyd, not Peter. No one ever has ever been sorry to hear about Peter, Stiles included, although that’s to be a given since he helped take the maniac down after the shit show that was his resurrection. And even though Boyd and Erica have been dead for almost a year, it’s still painful when people bring it up. Stiles is used to accepting condolences though, so he nods and thanks her. “We don’t know what side it came from, but we appreciate the precautions.” Not wanting to continue that line of conversation, he changes the subject. “Have you been to many of these before?”

“Scott usually sends one of the betas or goes himself, but he gets tired of being asked to answer questions about how to become a True Alpha. This is my first time, though, so he’s coming because he’s worried I’ll feel out of my depth surrounded by all these wolves. Aren’t you?” she asks suddenly, turning to face the man approaching her from her side that Stiles had barely noticed. “Stiles, this my alpha, Scott McCall. Scott, this is Stiles Stilinski.”

“Hale pack,” Scott says with a smile, putting his right hand out. After shaking Stiles’s hand, he turns back to Lydia and says, “Here are your room keys. I still don’t understand why they keep giving out two keys when only one person is listed for the room.” He pauses and frowns at her before commenting, “I just worry.”

Stiles does not, honestly does not, understand why he speaks up at all. “Well, no need to worry about me. Pathetic little human, no werewolf attributes.” His voice comes out rushed and the words sound choppy, but he doesn’t know why. It’s only after he’s spoken that he realizes how unnecessary it was that he interject.

Lydia looks a little amused as she takes her keys from Scott. “Good to know.” Opening her purse and putting one of the keys in an inside pocket, she turns back to her alpha and says, “See, it’s not just wolves you need to protect me from.” She waves him off with a grin and glances over at Stiles curiously.

“Yeah, I think this year the non-wolf participants are at an all time high. And it is weird that they give out two room keys, although I guess they really don’t know how many people are staying in the room. You could have a guest, you don’t have to list all of the room occupants when you register. Or, at least, I’m not sure, I Derek reserved the room for me.” Babbling, he’s babbling. He should stop that, really, because nothing good ever comes of it.

A small smirk slides onto her face, and she leans forward. Her low cut dress puts an excellent amount of cleavage on display, and Stiles is left a little speechless at such an obvious action. “There are other uses as well,” she tells him, lifting a hand to the collar of his shirt and fingering the top button as she stares him down. With her other hand, she spins the key card between her fingers before pressing it into his own grip. “In case you get lonely.”

She’s gone before he can think of anything to say.

-x-

Heart pounding, he takes the room key out of his wallet and puts it through the lock, wincing when the door swings open like he wishes it hadn’t. He’s just going to set it down on the nightstand by the bed and get out, and she can get the message from there. It’s the middle of the day and everyone is drifting between different sessions or out getting lunch, so there’s no danger of actually running into her.

Instead, the door opens to reveal the woman, Lydia, sitting at the desk and taking notes onto the complimentary pad of paper that hotels always leave out. She doesn’t even seem surprised, just shifts her gaze over to him and takes him in with a slow smirk. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d show up so soon.”

Oh, God. She thinks that he’s here to take her up on the offer. The offer that implied midnight shenanigans and casual sex for a few nights, the offer that she made after touching the collar of his shirt with intentions.

“No,” he starts, waving the key awkwardly. “I thought you’d be out, actually, I was going to drop this off and then hit the dusty trail again. Head up the highway, off to mingle in conference rooms with other pack people and try to figure out what sessions would be the best to drop by.” He’s still talking, oh no.

She looks part intrigued and part amused. “You’re welcome to drop by mine. ‘Pack Dynamics for the Non-Lycanthropic’, ballroom C at four. It’s going to be me and my alpha. He’ll be providing the werewolf expertise during the panel, because the organizers didn’t believe I would do a good enough job by myself.”

Okay, she’s definitely bitter. Stiles understands that, because he’s a human in a pack and feels like he understands pack dynamics enough to be able to handle something like that on his own. Except he doesn’t understand a lot of the stuff with the wolves in his pack, but it’s not for lack of trying. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to handle conducting a session like that. “I take it that you’re a human, too, then?” he asks, trying to lighten the tension. She’d hinted as much in their earlier conversation, but there were enough creatures that not-wolf didn’t rule everything out.

“A little more supernatural,” she tells him, standing from the desk and leaning against the chair as she drags her eyes over his body again. It makes him feel like he forgot to put on pants before he left the house this morning.

With that halo of red hair and the way that he feels drawn to her, he figures there can only be one explanation. And he’s only heard of them in mythological circumstances, but if werewolves are real than who is he to draw a line between what’s real and what’s created? “Siren?” he guesses, swallowing at how her dress clings to her in all the right place, showing off how her body is a perfect hourglass figure. Like someone designed her, almost.

She purses her lips and stifles a small laugh. “Banshee, actually, but thank you.”

“I thought that banshees were all really old and wrinkly. Because you are most definitely neither of those. Shit, are you immortal?” he asks before he can help himself, cutting off his questions before he can get more out.

Her expression is split between offense and good natured humor, and she pushes her hair over her shoulder to stare at him with clear intent. “Twenty seven next Tuesday.”

Throat dry, he manages to gasp, “Happy early birthday.” This is a trap and he’s going to die.

Giving him a sultry smile, she leans forward to showcase her amazing and ample cleavage. It’s not as up close and personal as the first time, but damn if it doesn’t still get the message across. “Want to help me celebrate?” she asks, drifting a hand to the sleeve of her dress, which she pushes off her shoulder in a smooth motion. Stiles is pretty sure that he has never thought of a shoulder as sexual before, despite what the dress code at his high school expected, but he’s learning that there’s a first time for everything if the arousal that he feels is any indication.

He pulls himself together and shoves the hand with the room key in front of him. “I came to return this.”

“Keep it,” she practically purrs, approaching him at a pace that makes him almost dizzy it’s so slow and sexual.

“I have a something, a someone. Probably,” he manages, even if he’s not sure what he and Malia are right now. He does know that this is a recipe for disaster and that keeping the room key is only going to let it keep cooking, which means that it’s going to burn which means that he’s going to burn and everything is going to blow up in his face.

He doesn’t know whether he’s made an adept metaphor or overstretched what similarities he could find. He does know, however, that if she won’t take the key back that he’s just going to leave it on the TV stand.

She runs her eyes down his form and her smirk only grows. Pressing herself to him, Lydia repeats herself and says, “Keep it. In case you lose your someone.” Reaching for him and placing her palm on his stomach, she trails her hand along the muscles under the fabric and moves her lips to the shell of his ear. “Or in case your someone loses you.” She punctuates her words by scraping her nails gently on the skin right under the hem of his shirt.

By this point, Stiles is up against the wall and is fighting every primal instinct in his body when he pushes her away and slips out through the door, pulling it shut with him.

It isn’t until he’s in his own room and trying to collect himself that he realizes he still has the key.

-x-

The possible breakouts that they have planned throughout the day mostly look like the same types of things that he’s listened to before. So he does make it to Lydia’s session, listening to her and Scott describe ways that pack members without a true awareness of the bond can still help to strengthen it. She’s smart, obviously, as she’s able to answer even the most off-the-wall questions with fluency. Scott barely has to interject at all, except when he comes in for a few questions about mate bonds between werewolf and not.

After that, he goes downstairs to meet a friend for dinner. There’s another time block set up for breakouts, but Stiles is far too tired to go back up and listen to topics like “Barely Beta: the Omega Transition” and “10 Incredible Ways to Improve Raw Rabbit.” His pack has never encountered a non-hostile omega that they’d thought about taking in, and Stiles really doubts that he’s going to start eating raw meat in anything besides sushi.

He calls Derek to chat for a while, keeps him updated on the different pack representatives and the drama that might eventually play into their own territory. Granted, he doesn’t know all that much, considering that the geographic committees aren’t until the next day, but he tries to fill him on the important things. There may be a stray coven of witches coming their way, considering the cloud formations that have started in the east.

Stretched out on his bed and ready to fall into a deep sleep, Stiles is about to get off the phone with Derek when he notices the key card sitting on his nightstand, the one that Lydia had pushed into his hands without taking no for an answer. The one he’d used in an unsuccessful attempt to return it.

“Is Malia there?” he asks finally, curled onto his side and facing away from the nightstand.

Derek pauses as though he’s not sure before saying in a confused voice, “Yeah. Do you want to talk to her?”

Well, duh. No, he’d been asking for his health. “You don’t get to hog me all night, Sour-Wolf. Give the phone to Malia and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Derek awkwardly signs off, and the only sign that the phone has changed hands is the difference in breathing that comes on the line. Which is weird, because Sties doesn’t want to be some stalker who listens to people breathe, but he can’t help it when they force it on him like this.

“What are you doing, Stiles?” Malia finally asks, when it clear that he’s not going to start the conversation.

He wonders if he should tell her about Lydia, in the interest of full disclosure. It’s probably best to keep the information to himself, because the last time Malia got jealous the situation that ensued ended with a huge charge for unspecified damages that Derek grumbled about for a week before going ahead and paying. Plus, it’s not like he has to tell her. Nothing’s happened between them, except for the fact that Lydia grabbed him. Well, not grabbed. That isn’t the right word, but he’s not sure is his lexicon is broad enough to find the right term.

“Nothing,” he says after pausing. “What are you up to?”

Her voice gets slightly more accommodating. “Just got back from a run. Isaac chased three rabbits and only ended up catching one because they kept going into small spaces he couldn’t follow.”

“Maybe next time you offer him some speed training he’ll actually take you up on it.” Reclining further onto the bed, he smiles at the thought of Derek leading his betas for a run. A few times, Stiles had even tried to go with them. He’d usually make it about a mile before telling the wolves to go ahead, that he’d catch up. 

With a slight snort, she goes on to say, “I told him to consider this a learning experience. How’s the conference?”

He looks out the window and stares out to the city lights. He can always go ahead and tell her that the conference is weird, he met this girl who’s been propositioning him, but that runs the risk of making her jealous. Or maybe he can say the conference is good, he’s had some interesting discussions and looks forward to implementing some ideas into the pack soon. Instead, he sighs and curls toward the phone. “It’s fine. I miss you.” 

He’s not even sure if he does, but it feels like the right thing to say. Even if Malia has never been a touchy-feely person, she’s probably going to be glad to hear it, and he should at least make the effort.

Her breathing hitches for the barest of moments before evening out. “You can’t do this, Stiles.” She sounds almost angry at him, like he’s said something unreasonable that she doesn’t know how to react to.

“Do what?” he asks, confusion evident.

“Tell me you miss me. I thought I made it clear.”

Startling clarity rocks over him, and even though he thinks he knows what she’s trying to say, he has to be sure. “What did you make clear?” He can’t help it if he sounds a little panicked.

Frustrated, she takes a deep breath before snapping, “We’re not like that anymore.”

Which, well, that’s what he thought she was trying to get across. But still, what? “What?”

“Stiles, don’t act like that. We’re not dating.”

Okay, so they’d stopped texting and talking recently and she’d claimed being busy whenever he brought up doing another date thing, and she’d glared at him when he’d tried to do something for their anniversary but he thought that was just because she hated celebrating things… Maybe he should have realized this sooner. Much sooner. Oh, God, he’s been the most obtuse idiot that he could ever imagine over the past month.

Still, the idea that he could have been broken up with and not know was ridiculous. Stiles doesn’t always get the most subtle of social cues, sure, but Malia has never been subtle. Clear, yes. Succinct, yes. Outspoken to the point of being considered rude, sure. But subtly has never been her strongest suit.

“What?” he manages, feeling like he’s just been knocked upside the head.

-x-

He knows, objectively, that going to Lydia is the worst idea that he’s ever had. He’s just been broken up with (well, not just, because apparently he was broken up with a while ago, but no one thought that they should tell him because he obviously already knew), he doesn’t need to be going to the door of the woman who propositioned him earlier. This can only end in one way, and that way is bad. The fun type of bad, admittedly, but bad! He needs to keep the pack’s relationship with the McCalls civil, he can’t honestly expect for this to go well.

But she’s interested, and the lecture that she’d lead clearly demonstrated how intelligent she is. And Stiles has a copy of her room key sitting on the nightstand, the cheap plastic just waiting to be put to use. He knows it’s predictable and maybe even a little despicable, but he can get over those thoughts for just one night. Maybe they’ll just get drunk and become friends and this will all be some crazy story that he tells Cora when he goes back.

So he drains a small bottle of vodka from the mini fridge in his hotel room, gathers up the room key and his courage, and heads down to the fourth floor. He’s about to make a monumentally stupid decision, but he already knows the possible consequences. So it should be fine. This should all be fine.

He turns onto the hallway that Lydia’s room is on, fidgeting as he wishes that the alcohol would get into his system already. Fingering the second key in his pocket, he’s not paying attention to what’s in the hallway with him when he slams into someone. Werewolf, by the solid feel of the chest he’s run into.

“Stiles,” Scott says with a grin, taking a step back. “What’s up? Is your room on this floor, too?”

No, despite the fact that he’s carrying a key for one of these. With the quickest excuse he can think of, he says, “I came here to find Lydia. I went to the session that you guys held on pack dynamics, and I had a few questions. When we were talking earlier, she mentioned what room she was staying in, so I figured now was as good a time as any to drop by.” Now being after ten at night, not suspicious at all. Nothing wrong with that.

His plan is barely plausible at best, and he’s just lucky that Scott doesn’t mistrust him enough to be listening closely to his heartbeat. He’s lying to the True Alpha, that’s it, Stiles is the worst human being to have ever been born.

“She mentioned what room she was in?” Scott asks, eyebrows drawing together slightly in confusion.

Great, now Stiles has to convince Scott McCall, the first True Alpha in a century, that he’s going to Lydia’s room for anything more than casual sex. He’s just thankful it’s not Derek, because Derek would be able to tell his intentions with just one look. Mostly because Derek knows Stiles too well for either of their tastes.

Covering for himself, Stiles manages to response fairly rapidly. “Some hotel rooms are luckier than others. I mentioned that mine wasn’t memorable, and she wanted to know if hers had any meaning. So she told me, 412, totally normal room. Which is where I’ve come to ask her a question that pertains to the nature of packs.”

With a shrug, Scott grins. “Does 413 have any special connotations?”

“Nope, none that I can think of,” Stiles stutters out.

Scott gives him a sidelong look but decides to ignore how weird Stiles is being, because he doesn’t say that no one actually tells someone their room number randomly without wanting to do the do with them. Except Scott, apparently, because of course he’s the most innocent creature to ever exist. Stiles wants to wrap him in a blanket and watch a movie marathon with him, because he seems like the kind of guy who would be down for that.

Maybe it’s because everyone is so used to Stiles being weird that they just automatically ignore when he’s super weird because it falls under the same wavelength? Interesting theory, he should call Derek and test it out later. When he has something else to be really weird about.

“I’m actually here for Lydia, too. I was going to ask if she wanted to come down to the hotel bar and have a few drinks, go over how the next few days are looking. Do you want to come?” He genuinely looks like he wants for Stiles to join them, going so far as to give him puppy dog eyes the likes of which Stiles has never seen before aside from on actual puppies. No wonder he’s a True Alpha, he looks like Bambi.

Nervously backing up, Stiles holds his hands up. “Sounds like pack stuff, you guys can handle it on your own. Really, I can make time to talk to her later. Like tomorrow.” Or never.  
Never is good. Scott being here to stop him is a sign that Stiles is a royal fuck up and that he should not be trying to make contact with the sexy redhead who looks like she wants to eat him alive and watch him suffer. Although, he thinks he’d kind of be into that.

It’s the fact that Scott looks as though Stiles has crushed his hopes and dreams that makes him say something different. “I mean, if you really want me to, I guess I can come.”

Those eyes are like weapons and should be destroyed. Scott wields far too much power with them.

“Great! Let’s get Lydia, then.”

“Okay, let’ get Lydia,” Stiles says, silently condemning himself for agreeing to it.

Scott gives him a kind of look when Stiles doesn’t move, and he finally tells the other man, “Her door is right behind you, you know.” He reaches over Stiles’s shoulder and knocks.

Moving out of the way, Stiles shoulders himself beside Scott and closes his eyes in the hopes that Lydia won’t actually be in her room. Because that’s the best outcome that he can foresee. She won’t show up, maybe he’ll go and have a few drinks with Scott and then go back to his room and try to stop himself from coming back down to the fourth floor to try Lydia’s door again. Otherwise she’s going to open the door and they’re all going to have drinks together and it’s going to be the most uncomfortable conversation he’s ever taken part in since someone from another pack asked him if he was Derek’s mate and Derek accidentally backhanded Isaac in response.

The door opens, and Lydia takes them in with a face that reveals nothing. “What an unusual pair,” she drawls at them, leaning against the doorframe as he eyes flicker between them.

“Stiles came to ask you some pack questions, and I came to ask if you wanted a drink. So I figured we should just take care of all of those together.” Scott even smiles as he says the words, because he genuinely believes that this is going to be a fun bonding experience. “I hear they make great gin and tonics,” he tacks on.

She makes a noise of appraisal before turning around and collecting the key whose mate is burning a hole through Stiles’s pant pocket. “You know me too well,” she accuses Scott halfheartedly, barely glancing at Stiles.

Scott’s grin is like sunshine, and he throws an arm around her as they walk down the hallway. “I visited with Chris Argent today. He came on a special provision that he had to get from the council, he wasn’t here to stake out targets. We trust him, remember?” he says when Lydia tenses up.

“What I remember is having to pull a wolfsbane bullet from your shoulder,” Lydia remarks, her voice tight.

Stiles is out of place in this discussion, that much is obvious. He knows of the Argents, how could he not? Almost all of the Hale legacy was killed off because of Kate Argent’s passion for fire and hatred for wolves. He also knows that Kate’s niece, Allison, had been so close to the McCall pack that there were rumors going up and down the west coast that she was thinking of taking the bite. Those rumors died with her, but they did give way to ones that Chris Argent was taking a lighter stance on wolves because of his daughter’s devotion to the McCall alpha.

Pressing the elevator call button, Scott exhales and stares at Lydia. “I trust Chris. The last thing that Allison asked him for before she died was a change in the code. She knew how toxic things were becoming. Chris is trying to follow her wishes, he’s making an effort.” 

“He should have made the effort while Allison was alive.” Shrinking away from Scott’s touch, Lydia wastes no time before stepping into the elevator as soon as it opens for them. 

She punches the lobby level button with force, as though to will herself away from the conversation.

Giving Lydia a fairly wide birth, they follow her into the elevator and stay quiet until she breaks the silence. “I don’t want to talk about work right now. We always talks about work. Do you want Stiles to think that we’re boring people who don’t have anything else worth discussing?”

“I don’t know what else we could talk about,” Scott says with confusion.

Lydia puts a hand on the glass and stares at Stiles before flicking her gaze back to Scott and saying, “Well, anything, really. Anything but work or pack or business. We’re not doing this for business.”

The bar is crowded when they get over to it, and there are patrons spread out among a few tables as well. Lydia goes to stake out a booth while Stiles and Scott head to the bar, watching them go with a strange look.

“I should have changed the topic. Sorry,” Stiles apologizes belatedly, scratching his arm awkwardly as he glances around for a place to get the bartender’s attention.

Scott shrugs. “I probably shouldn’t have brought Chris up in the first place. I know Lydia’s never gotten along with him, I should have left well enough alone. I know she doesn’t like him for a reason, but…” Drifting off, he flags the bartender down and orders a gin and tonic and a draft beer, the name of which Stiles doesn’t catch.

“Two,” Stiles adds on when he sees the bartender start to turn away. Better to have a drink he’s never tried before than not have a drink.

When they have their drinks, Scott leads the way to where Lydia has gotten them a booth in the corner and is talking on the phone with flashing eyes. Judging by Scott’s expression, Stiles surmises that he’s heard the conversation and isn’t entirely pleased. Without a word, Scott drops the gin and tonic in front of Lydia and holds out his hand for the phone. 

“Yes, he’s here, and he wants to talk to you. And tell Liam that I’m not talking to him until he admits defeat in our Words with Friends game. Bye, Jackson,” Lydia intones, dropping the phone into Scott’s waiting palm. She takes a deep drink from her glass before looking over to Stiles and saying, “Pack stuff.”

Sitting down next to her, Stiles stifles a laugh. “Believe me, I know all about that. Last week, Isaac stole one of Derek’s scarves because Cora shrunk one of his in the wash. Werewolves, am I right?”

She spares him a humorless smile and lets her gaze travel over him. It’s not as predatory as it had been in her hotel room, but it still manages to make him feel as though he’s being undressed with her eyes. “I thought you had a… Something. A someone,” she says, running a finger along the edge of her glass.

And there it is. Stiles really had thought that they would be able to go longer without her bringing up the obvious reason of why he’d been going to her room, but he can work with sooner rather than later. “It turns out that I don’t. I haven’t had a someone for a while now, apparently.”

“Pity,” she deadpans, her voice giving nothing away.

“Pack drama, yeah?” he tries, wishing that she would give him some kind of signal as to what she was feeling.

Lifting the corner of her mouth, she attempts a mildly entertained appearance. She knows that Scott can hear the conversation, and even if she knows that he never pays much attention to background noise she also knows he likes to keep tabs on pack members. Probably better to cut it short and change the subject. “At least most of the wolves you deal with are born. Isaac is the bitten one, right?”

“Erica and Boyd were bitten, too. The pack, at that point, was Derek. Just Derek. He made some drastic decisions before I came along to guide him,” he says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. 

Lydia nods with understanding. “How’d you end up joining?” she asks, taking the lime off the cusp of her glass and squeezing the juices in with her drink.

Laughing, Stiles takes a drink of his beer and shrugs. “I was friends with Erica, and she kind of threw me in without warning. She actually came over my house one day, transformed her face and said she’d been bitten by a werewolf. I’m sure you can imagine how well that went over.”

“Did you pass out?”

“Close, but no cigar. I pissed myself, which is mortifying in a different sort of way. Why, did you pass out? Because I can’t see that happening, for some reason.” 

Smirking, Lydia raises her shoulders innocently. “I held myself together. So Derek found out you knew and tracked you down?” She looks over her shoulder to keep an eye on Scott, who is still on the phone.

Leaning toward her secretively, he grins. “Erica and I were total nerds, so after I got cleaned up, I told her, ‘Take me to your leader.’ The rest, as I say, is history.” With a wave of his hands, he chuckles as he remembers it.

Scott walks over to the edge of the table and slides Lydia’s phone across the glossy finish. “Jackson is a jackass. Remind me why he’s in the pack?” he says, taking a swig of his beer as he slides into the bench across from them. “What have you guys been talking about?”

“Because you saved him from being a murderous lizard. I thought we went over this already. And Stiles and I have been sharing stories about how we came to join our packs.”

“I’ve been sharing, but Lydia hasn’t yet told me what happened with her,” Stiles interjects, waving his beer at her lazily before drinking. “How’d you two meet?”  
Scott and Lydia share a look before Scott sighs and says, “High school bullies make the best pack members.”

“I didn’t bully you,” Lydia snaps, throwing a bunched up napkin at him. “Jackson bullied you, and I didn’t stop him. Two different things, thank you very much.” She wrinkles her nose and turns to Stiles, exasperated.

Unsuccessfully trying to pass of a laugh as a cough, Stiles nods. “Well, that sounds good. Healthy relationships all around, bet Jackson was pleased when you turned out to be an alpha.”

Scott puts the napkin to the side and grins. “The first year or two was kind of weird,” he agrees.

“That wasn’t all because of you, though. Remember, the first year was still when Jackson and I were trying to make things work. Which turned out spectacularly. I take it that you don’t need to be reminded of the time I used the chains you reserve for the full moon on him because he pissed me off.” Lydia arches an eyebrow and leans back into her seat, clearly more at ease having a conversation with Scott than with Stiles.

“All he did was break your DVD of The Notebook in half,” Scott defends.

“Wait, you actually dated someone in your pack? Jesus, I thought I was only one dumb enough to do that,” Stiles laments, putting a hand to his forehead.

Lydia rolls her eyes and taps at the table. “We weren’t in the pack when we started dating. Actually, we were both human, or at least I still thought I was. And,” she snaps, turning to Scott, “I loved that movie and I know that he knew what we he was doing. I don’t care how many times he tried to apologize afterwards.”

Stiles watches Lydia and Scott debate good-naturedly. They obviously feel at home with one another, the trust and friendship that can only come with pack. It makes him want to go back to his own pack and engage in the puppy piles that they all wake up to pretend only that it only happened on accident.

After an hour has rolled by, Scott presses the palms of his hands to his eyes. “I should really get going. I’ll see you in the morning, Lydia. Nice seeing you, Stiles,” he says, getting to his feet and waving them goodbye.

Watching Scott wander to the bar and put a bill in the tip jar, Lydia turns back to Stiles with sparkling eyes and a mischievous smile. “So Scott mentioned that you had a question about the seminar that I lead?” Her fingers tap out some kind of tune on the tabletop as she stares at him like she knows he’s trapped.

He’d almost forgotten about the lie he told that got him here in the first place. Swallowing, Stiles waves his hand in what he hopes is a smooth motion but probably looks jerky and uncoordinated, knowing him. “Yeah, I was coming to ask you a few questions.” To stop himself from continuing to do anything stupid, he picks up his beer bottle and tilts his head back to take a drink.

Lifting a corner of her mouth, Lydia scooches to the other side of the booth and collects her gin and tonic. “Maybe you should ask me your questions tomorrow. I’ve had enough answers for tonight.” Without further ado, she drains the contents of her glass and turns to leave. She pauses, though, almost as though she’s thinking better of it, and she faces him once more. “I have a question of my own, though.”

He knows that this can only lead to trouble, but he still responds, “Go ahead, I’m all ears.”

“How long after you found out you were single did you wait before making your way down to me?”

Her hips sway as she leaves him alone, having decided that his answer wasn’t worth waiting for. He finds that the only thing he’s capable of registering in her absence is that the buckles on her high heels are the same shade of metal as the hinges of the door that swings shut behind her.

Then he pauses to take stock of the evening. It wasn’t horrible. It went so much better than expected, considering that Scott literally found him outside of Lydia’s door and he had to come up with an excuse on the spot.

He and Lydia actually get along, and it certainly helps that she’s as familiar with the supernatural world as he is. She’s fun to talk to, has a million stories to compare with him about their different packs, and is easily the hottest woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

The fact that her room key is weighing heavy against his leg makes him a little nauseated.

-x-

The next morning, he gets waffles at the hotel’s continental breakfast, drowns them in syrup, and stares down at his plate like a good serving of breakfast food might be the thing that can help him figure out his life. It doesn’t end up solving his mild existential crisis, but it does taste delicious and sometimes that’s all you can hope for.

He texts Cora on and off throughout the day, sending her annoying reminders of things that she already knows but he’s unnecessarily worried about anyway. Things like “full moon: T minus 12 nights, better rest up” and “I’d kill for some decent margarine instead of this butter just because wolves don’t have to worry about their families history of high cholesterol doesn’t mean that we all have that luxury” and “remember Isaac is allergic to strawberries fuck me if Derek didn’t tell me that the bite would eliminate all those pesky human traits”.

She responds succinctly in the way that almost reminds him of when Derek stops being such a pain in the ass. “Need all my strength to stop Malia from going after the endangered animals” and “Kill the Renolds alpha for your margerine, I hate that bitch” and “Ew Stiles I’m not going to fuck you because of something my brother said. That’s gross. (& I know about Isaac’s allergy, I’m not an idiot.)”

Cora is a good person to rely on when he needs to think about something but doesn’t want to, because she knows he’s using her as a distraction and doesn’t care. She even plays a few rounds of Draw Something with him while he’s supposed to be paying attention to the lecture on “Negotiations: Natural Compromises.” But he’s been acting as the mediator between the Hale pack and everyone else for around eight years, ever since he convinced Derek that he’s actually not a useless human being. He’s not going to let some aging alpha with territory issues tell him how to manage these kinds of things for his pack.

There’s something to be said for Cora’s willingness to be a distraction when she actually sends him pictures of curtain options when he mentions that he’s tired of the blinds in his room. They spend some time debating the merits of the curtain as a full sheet or split down the middle, to the point where Derek even sends him an email that has several websites attached that offer alternatives to the full sheet. Which is, actually, rather caring of his alpha. Maybe today isn’t one of the days where Derek wants to kill everyone.

Stiles manages to make it until three in the afternoon before catching site of Lydia. She’s standing in the back of a conference room, holding her phone to her ear with her shoulder while using her hands to jot down notes on a pad of paper. She looks preoccupied, so he doesn’t try to bother her, but he does offer a small wave.

The only response that she troubles herself with is staring at him blankly before going back to her conversation on the phone, this time pointedly turning her back to him.  
It’s not like he wants her to run up to him and give him a hug, but some form of acknowledgement would be nice.

The day passes fairly quickly, between emailing Derek and getting into a .gif-war with Cora (if she thinks she can beat the clip of the ladies of 9 to 5 clinking glasses with the caption ‘misandry’ coming up underneath the toast, she’s got another thing coming). Stiles even manages to keep his running commentary of how stupid these events are to himself, though it does mean depriving those around him of his stellar wit.

He even hammers out a new treaty with one of their neighboring packs, explaining that the territory they’ve been patrolling like it’s theirs is actually Hale property. As in, the deed is in Derek’s name. After that, their envoy doesn’t really have an argument, and Stiles is quick to make a grab for a few extra acres, waving his hands and mumbling about not wanting it to get back to his alpha. He’s never been so grateful for the wolfish expressions he’s adopted from being around the pack as then, when the envoy just nods shakily before beating a hasty retreat.

All in all, a productive day. The border has been secured, they have more land than before, and he has curtain options to go through. So he heads over to the restaurant that Isaac suggested to him before he left, and it isn’t until he’s reached the lobby that he realizes his wallet is still upstairs in the room.

Finally having collected his wallet and made it back to the lobby, Stiles fumbles with putting the directions into his phone and silently cursing Isaac for not recommending a closer place. As he looks up from his phone, he bumps into someone and instinctually reaches out to steady the woman he nearly knocked over.

Turning around, it only takes Lydia a second before she’s grinning smugly. “Just couldn’t stay away.”

Well, that’s certainly a change of attitude from the cold shoulder she gave him earlier. Taking his hands off her waist, Stiles gives a small laugh and even goes so far as to nod, deciding that his best course of action is probably making it into a joke. “You caught me, I’ve been trying to track you down the whole day.”

“How’d that go for you?” she asks, walking out of the center of the lobby and over toward a pair of armchairs.

“Not as good as if I had a werewolf’s sense of smell.” And he really wasn’t planning on turning this interaction into anything lasting, but he follows her anyway, sinking into one of the chairs. Because it’s hard not to, with the way she watches him like she doesn’t know what she wants to do with him but she wants to find out.

She sits down across from him and leans forward to rest her chin in her hands. Her lower lip comes out in a pout, and her red hair looks the type of tousled that probably takes hours in front of a mirror to make it appear so effortless. It’s an attractive pose, probably something that she designed on purpose to catch unsuspecting males off guard, and damn her if it isn’t working. “And just what were you going to do when you caught me?”

Well. He hadn’t really thought that through. Now, though, he just sit and stares at her as she crosses the distance between their chairs and perches herself on the edge of his own seat. Swallowing can only reveal the kind of effect that she has on him, but his throat is to dry for him to try to formulate a response without it.

Before he actually comes up with a response, she leans over to him, pressing her breasts against his shoulder as she moves her mouth by his ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about it, and if you aren’t sure, I have a few ideas.”

-x-

The elevator doors ding shut behind them, and all the anticipation Stiles has felt since he first laid eyes on her has culminated into a fire that twines its way through his stomach up to his throat. He wants to know why she’s so responsive when she’d froze him out only the night before, but the question doesn’t even make it up to his throat before Lydia stands in front of him and tilts her head up to him in the slightest of motions.

It’s clear what she’s waiting for, especially when she wraps one hand behind his neck and places the other on his shoulder. Still, he hesitates for the briefest of moments, going as far to say, “You’re sure?”

Her expression, previously unreadable despite the blatant intentions of her actions, clears up wonderfully, and she smiles. “Unless you’re not.” She looks honest and careful at that moment, waiting for him to start.

“Hell yes I’m sure,” Stiles says, the words coming out garbled with how fast he tries to get them out. With that, he leans down and presses his lips against hers, just holding them together before tipping his head to where their noses don’t collide quite as much and trying again. And despite the heated moments that have passed between them, the first kiss that they share is quiet and unassuming.

Unassuming, that is, until Lydia runs her tongue along his bottom lip before attempting to deprive him of all air.

He responds in kind, flipping their positions and leaning her against the wall. Running his hands down her sides, he lifts the hem of her dress and feels the soft skin of her thighs beneath his fingertips. “Oh,” he says in surprise when she reaches down and grabs his ass.

With a giggle, Lydia pulls away from him as the elevator comes to a stop. “You’re going to do terrible things to me, I can already tell.” She sounds thrilled at the prospect, her bright eyes sparkling.

“Oh, God, I hope so.” He wants to do terrible things to her and with her, many times and in as many different positions as they can manage.

She smiles, crooking her finger for him to follow her as she starts down the hallway. Looking back and seeing how far behind he is, she breaks into a run as she makes for her doorway, having it opened and closed before Stiles has even gotten halfway.

It feels like a chase, so he gives it to her, remembering her words from only a few minutes ago. “What were you going to do when you caught me?” she’d asked him, the look in her eyes anything but innocent. Now they’re going to find out, he thinks, fumbling in his pocket for the key he’d been so afraid of at first. Slipping it into the lock and watching the light change green, he allows himself to be thankful that she began the chase in the first place.

When he gets the door opens, she’s standing across the room and waiting expectantly.

Lydia stares him down like a challenge, widening her stance briefly before she drops her hand down, toys with the hem of her dress to get it above her hips and fingers the lacy material of her panties as she keeps eye contact. She swallows before letting out a cross between a sigh and a moan, never losing eye contact all the while.

It is, without a doubt, the hottest thing he has ever seen. His brain basically fries itself at the sight, and all of his blood rushes to his cock, leaving him feeling lightheaded and lucky. 

“Well?” she demands when he’s stayed silent for too long.

Those words get him into gear again, and he slams the door shut before launching across the room to close to the space between them. He spares a moment to be thankful that all the rooms are soundproofed, a concession the hotel makes specifically for this conference. All the werewolves get annoyed if they can’t sleep because someone in the room over was keeping them awake.

The soundproofing also means that Scott won’t be able to hear them, which is good. That might make future meetings between the packs rather awkward. It’s not like he’s not going to know, werewolves seem to have a sixth sense when it comes to one of their own having sex. Or maybe it’s just that Stiles’s pack is weirdly obsessed with things like that and no one else cares but he thinks that it’s normal. He should ask Derek.

Given that he’s been standing in front of her, motionless, for the last few seconds, Lydia decides to kick it up a notch and pushes her hand down into her underwear. She focuses on what makes her feel good, not exactly starting without him but giving him enough of an idea that that’s where they should be headed. By the time she looks over at Stiles again, he’s practically drooling and makes a noise that sounds absolutely wretched.

“Can I…” He drifts off, looking at her like he’s trying to decide how to finish the sentence. There are so many options and each of them better than the last, his mind filled with possibilities flying at a hundred miles an hour. He doesn’t even know where to begin, only that he’d like to.

She nods, not even bothering to ask what he means. The room is suddenly too hot, and she either needs to turn on the air conditioning or get naked. She hopes that it’s the latter, and she’s pleased when he reaches around her to tug the zipper in back of her dress down. The air that rushes against her flushed skin feels almost chilly, and she can’t help but shiver at the sensation. When the zipper is all the way down, Stiles steps around her and unhooks her bra carefully.

Leaning to where his mouth is against the shell of her ear, he whispers, “How many fingers deep are you?”

Her hand stills instantly, and Lydia gives a guilty swallow before answering. “Two,” she says, her voice slightly shaky. Pressing back against him, she dares a bold smirk in his direction that quickly dissolves into a gasp when he reaches around and takes hold of her wrist.

“Do you want to keep going or would you like some help?”

Arousal pools hot in her stomach at his words, and she tips her head back almost uselessly. “Some help would be nice,” she admits, moving her other hand back and resting it against his hip.

He places his lips just beyond her ear and moves them to her jaw. “Let’s get undressed and then you can show me what you need.” It’s not a question.

She can get on board with that, because she’s kind of dying to know what he’s hiding under his clothes. While at the conference, she’s seen him in jeans that form well to him without being excessively clingy. Today he has a hoodie on over a T-shirt, and she wants to rip them both off. Well, maybe not rip, that would probably be too much of a hassle and take too long. She still wants them gone, though.

With only a little difficulty from not being able to move her wrist, she draws her fingers out and resists making a whining sound at the lost, though she must make some kind of noise she’s unaware of if the look that he’s giving her is any indication. “You have no idea how you look right now, do you?” he asks, his voice a shade huskier than before. “Like you’re just about desperate, like you absolutely need this. Like you want me.”

Turning her head to face him, she says, voice full of anticipation, “I do.”

Those must be the magic words, because his pupils dilate and he captures her mouth in a kiss that leaves her breathless. He lets go of her wrist and hooks that thumb through the material of her underwear, dragging it down as his other hand catches her chin to keep her lips connected to his.

Shimmying the rest of the way out of her underwear, she kicks it aside and separates from him only long enough to fully face him and tug his hoodie down. “Wear less clothes, next time,” she manages between kisses.

“Next time?” he asks, tugging his shirt over his head as soon as she gets the jacket off his arms.

“These conferences are horribly boring, I always need some kind of distraction. I have a feeling that you’re going to work out wonderfully,” Lydia tells him, pushing the sleeves of her dress down before kicking it off as well.

He just smirks at her, gives her a look that’s something hungry and hedonistic that she wouldn’t have thought him capable of if she wasn’t faced with it. “A little presumptuous, aren’t we?” He unbuttons his jeans and reaches forward to run a hand along her hipbone.

Her eyes flick up and she levels him with her gaze. “Unless you don’t want to.” It’s almost a threat, but she doesn’t want to go through with it.

Moving his jeans out of the way, Stiles’s smirk only grows. He puts his other hand on her other hip and pulls her to him until her body is flush with his. “I do,” he says simply.

“Good,” she whispers, the tiniest bit breathless. That out of the way, she wraps her hands behind his neck and stands on her toes to be able to kiss him properly. The only things between them are her bra and his boxers, everything else cast aside to be worried about later. Those will come off too, she’s sure, it’s only a matter of time and how patient they are. They’ll probably join the rest of their clothes on the rug soon enough.

True to her thoughts, he runs his tongue on her lip and unhooks her bra in the same moment. She opens her mouth the slightest bit, granting him access easily. From there, his hand moves from the small of her back to between her thighs, stroking the smooth skin there briefly before moving into her folds.

She gasps, just a short intake of breath that makes him almost laugh. “We have time, it’s alright.”

The issue isn’t that they don’t have time, she’s well aware that it’s early in the evening. The issue is that she’s aroused and really can’t think of anything better than him inside of her. Moving her arms, she drops her bra and shifts her hips on top of his hand, attempting to guide him since he apparently needs a map drawn.

“Not yet,” he tells her, lifting his other hand to brush a thumb over her cheek. “I thought we agreed that you’d show me what you need.”

It’s not that she hasn’t touched herself in front of someone else, but those men were men she’d been dating at the time or had a more stable form of relationship with than ‘possibly reoccurring one-night stand’. Still, she hasn’t exactly been shy during this encounter, so she moves one hand to her front and takes her time as she tips her head back the slightest bit. Stiles moves his hand away so that he isn’t blocking her, but keeps it between her ass and inner thigh. In his mind, it’s a compromise, because there’s no way he’s letting go of her.

As she slips a finger into herself, he presses their lips together and tries to figure out the rhythm that she likes best. He memorizes how she slides another finger without pause, how she shakes ever so slightly. All while she whimpers against him into his mouth.

Her other hand is tangled in his hair, and she pulls away to tell him, “I’m close, I’m gonna…”

She drifts off as she winces in an attempt to concentrate, and he shifts his hand ever so slightly. She’s close, and Stiles absolutely cannot wait to take her over the edge. It’s with that thought that he presses his thumb against her clit and watches as she stills for a moment before biting back a shout.

Victorious, he catches her as she limps against him. “How was that?”

“Marvelous,” Lydia says with a wicked grin, glancing behind her to make sure she’s suitably close to the wall before leaning against it. Then, she pauses to take stock of their positions. Deciding that they’re apparently too far apart, she puts her hands on hips and pulls him a little closer before running her fingertips along the band of his boxers teasingly. “How are you?”

Biting his lip, he smiles at her with half of his mouth and raises his head slightly to the ceiling. “About to be wonderful.”

“Oh?” She’s such a tease, she knows. She loves it.

“Just a feeling,” he says, running his hands along her sides and holding her breasts. He rolls one of her nipples between his fingers and watches it pebble beautifully before him.

She dips her hand inside his boxers as he kisses down her neck gently, and then she says, “What question were you going to make up with Scott there, last night?”

Panting, he pulls away from her collarbone and bites back a moan when she runs her thumb over the head of his throbbing cock. “I didn’t have one then, but I have one now. How do you feel about athletic sex?” he asks, watching with interest as Lydia’s eyes jump to his and her eyes light up like Christmas has come early.

“I was a contortionist for Halloween one year, so I can be unbelievably flexible,” she says excitedly, stretching one leg up and tucking it behind her head casually.

Which, wow. That’s unexpected, not to mention hot. “Jesus,” Stiles hisses, nails digging into her hip.

“You can call me Lydia,” she teases him, lowering her leg slowly. She tries to keep her hand moving at the same pace, but it’s kind of hard when her concentration has suddenly been split into taking all of the positions they could be doing under careful consideration. Let it never be said that she doesn’t think things through.

As soon as her foot touches the ground, Stiles picks her up and falls back onto the bed, making sure to take her with him. “We are going to have so much fun,” he tells her, voice low and almost gravelly. 

Lydia thinks that his voice goes well with his blown pupils. And because his eyes have darkened so much that they almost look black, she can’t resist feeling like they’re about to glow yellow or some other sort of color. Stiles is a human, yes, but his possessiveness reminds her far too much of the wolves she runs with. She moves her mouth to his chest and runs her tongue from one pectoral muscle to the next, careful to lave each nipple until it was hard in her mouth before moving on. 

Eyes closed, he moves up to lean against the headboard and gives himself over to her touch. He goes so far as to drop his arms to his sides and keeps them relaxed even as she uses her hands to pin his biceps against the floral bedspread. And then he does the most wonderful thing that Lydia has ever seen: he tilts his head up, baring his neck to her.

Given the fact that she’s fairly sure her heart skips a beat at the sign of total submission, she isn’t entirely sure that Stiles is the only one with a few wolfish characteristics. She absolutely attacks him from that moment, nails digging in slightly to his arms as she moves up from his chest and places her mouth along his throat. From there, it’s only a few moments before she’s sucking hard against his freckled skin, eager to leave him marked up.

“Derek is going to think I’m the biggest slut ever,” he says offhandedly.

Stiles’s alpha is clearly more involved in his pack’s sex life than Scott is. Although maybe that’s a given, seeing that every time Scott gets an inkling of one of them having sex his ears go red and he can’t look anyone in the eyes for a few hours. It’s kind of cute, actually. “Sounds like he needs to get laid.”

One corner of his mouth lifts, and he opens his eyes to look at her through lowered lashes. “Not as much as I do.” He sounds debauched, and the imagery of him being held down doesn’t contradict that.

“Let’s see what we can do about that, then.”

-x-

Afterwards, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, Stiles breathes deeply and tangles his fingers through Lydia’s hair. The clock on her nightstand doesn’t seem right but must be. He went back to his room to get his wallet years ago, a lifetime ago. Maybe the clock is right, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like he’s different now, more clear headed the time could have provided.

Rolling on her side, Lydia sits and draws up the sheet with her in a show of modesty that he doesn’t understand. They just had sex in a well-lit hotel room, he’s well aware of what her body looks like even if she tries to hide it from him. She reaches across him and over to the nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling out a laminated menu. “Do you want room service? I’m starving.” She flips the menu over and checks to see whether or not they serve breakfast throughout the day.

He watches her with interest, propping himself onto an elbow and feigning interest in the omelet choices. “Room service sounds good, but I was thinking that I was hungry for something else.” Shifting the sheet away from her, he shimmies down and lifts one of her knees over his shoulder. “Something I didn’t see on that menu.”

With a smile, she tosses the paper off the bed and relaxes onto the pillow. “Oh, I like you,” she says in reverence when his mouth makes contact with her.

“Enough to keep me?” he asks, smirking into her folds.

She shudders at the vibration and tilts her head back against the headboard. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she whispers half-heartedly, trying to keep from moaning already. 

They’re lucky that room service is 24/7.


End file.
